


And We'll Never Be Alone Again

by shadowed_sunsets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, John and Hamish are looking for a new start, but its never quite as simple as that, interesting things always happen in bookstores, slight angst but hopeful ending, the Holmes family are ghosts and haunt Mrs. Hudson's bookstores, warning for brief discussion of tragic events, warning for threatening language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowed_sunsets/pseuds/shadowed_sunsets
Summary: When John Watson and his son Hamish move from London to a small village for a fresh start with the help of Martha Hudson, owner of the local bookstore, they expect a quiet & peaceful new life. Little do John & Hamish know that the bookstore is actually haunted by the ghosts of the Holmes family who perished in a tragic mysterious fire many years ago. And none of them realize someone is nearby watching, waiting for the right moment to disrupt their lives.





	And We'll Never Be Alone Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PipMer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/gifts).



> Happy holidays! I very much hope you enjoy this humble gift, and that it helps to brighten your season!
> 
> I noticed we both enjoyed stories set in an AU setting, so I tried to write a sort of AU story with a mashup of your preferences. I ended up rather enjoying this world, so perhaps some day I’ll expand on this story!

It was almost twenty years now since the last time John had found himself in this village. Back then it had been under protest, dragged away to the countryside and away from his friends who were spending their free days of summer playing outside. While he was forced to spend his free days in a small, strange village with his mum and sister.

 

This time though, so many years and experiences later, he was returning by choice for an attempt at a new start for himself and his son. Actually it was a bit reassuring to see the village hadn’t changed much since he’d been here. When he was the one who had changed so much.

 

A light tug on his arm jolted John back to the present. He looked down and over to find Hamish staring up at him, head tilted to one side in a silent question. Hamish wouldn’t voice his question out loud but his concern was obvious enough. The boy had always tended towards quiet observation; but now ever since it was just the two of them Hamish had started worrying about him even more.

 

John smiled at his son, trying to reassure him. “Should we go find our new home?” He asked, lightly squeezing the boys shoulder.

 

Hamish nodded eagerly, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. John picked up his weathered but trustworthy duffle bag and started leading Hamish over towards the end of the platform nearest to the village center.

 

The village was small enough the station had a one room ticket office at one end of the railed platform. For some reason even though it was evening the train he and Hamish had taken was nearly empty, and now they were the only ones on the platform. No one even looked out of the station as he and Hamish started walking down the platform, Hamish trailing a little behind as he tried to look around and take in everything.

           

At the other end of the platform stone steps led down to street level and the village proper. Hamish quickly went down the steps to stand at the bottom, peering curiously around at what they could see of the village. John followed more cautiously, taking the steps one at a time. He came to a stop beside Hamish, reaching out a hand to stop the boy from running off.

           

With Hamish restrained John reached into the pocket of his jacket and fished out the notebook where he’d written Mrs. Hudson’s instructions. One-handed, and only fumbling a little, John flipped it open to the right page.

           

Luckily Mrs. Hudson had given very detailed instructions.

           

“This way, I think,” John announced, lightly ruffling Hamish’s hair to refocus the boys attention. John shook his head in amusement at Hamish’s token protest then lead his son off towards the center of the village.

           

They walked along narrow streets with stone paved sidewalks and single and double storey blue-grey shingled buildings on either side. Some of the buildings appeared to be residential, others were businesses with welcoming storefronts and window displays, the two mixing together.

 

Finally they reached the center of the village, seeing only a few other people while they walked. But even when John smiled at them and nodded a greeting, the villagers only gave him a suspicious glance before hurrying away.

 

Small villages weren’t always the most welcoming, but John remembered the villagers being at least a little friendlier when he was younger. Still, times changed.

 

John wrapped his arm around Hamish’s shoulders, and carefully kept him close as they continued walking.

 

They crossed the intersection of the three narrow streets that went through the middle of the village, a raised garden in the very middle creating a sort of roundabout.

 

According to Mrs. Hudson’s directions her bookstore and building were just a little ways down the road leading East, which of course now started to incline. Hamish, being young and full of energy, slipped out from John’s arm to hurry a few steps ahead.

 

Not far from the village center the houses became more spaced out with green areas on either side and a short stone wall lining the road. It was pleasant, but didn’t seem busy enough for a bookstore to have enough foot traffic to survive.

 

John started to suspect they may have taken a wrong turn until Hamish turned around and pointed out the stone two storey building that had just appeared at the top of the hill ahead of them. “Look, there’s the bookshop!” Hamish announced loudly before he took off towards the building.

 

“Hamish, wait!” John protested, but there was no chance of him catching up, especially carrying the extra weight of his duffle bag on his shoulder. At least there were no cars around, but knowing his son the boy was just as likely to trip.

 

By the time Hamish arrived on the stone patio in front of the bookshop and knocked on the wooden door before moving to the window to peer inside, John had managed to struggle his way up the hill to stop just in front of the bookshop.

 

Looking gratefully at the inviting light shining through the side windows on the first level John thought he caught a glimpse of a shadow in one window, but then he blinked and it disappeared. The smaller shadow of what could be a boy appeared briefly in the other window, and John squinted in the fading daylight to see better.

 

But he was distracted when the front door of the bookshop creaked open, and warmm welcoming light spilled outside.

 

An older woman’s familiar but not quite voice greeted his son warmly as she stepped out onto the patio, “Oh hello! You must be Hamish.”

 

Hamish peeled himself away from the window, fingers uncurling from the windowsill, to turn and look at her. “Hello,” he greeted politely, remembering he did actually have manners. But then he clasped his hands behind his back and broke eye contact.

 

Well, better than John had expected. He quickened his pace to close the distance between himself and the others, stepping up onto the patio just as Mrs. Hudson said, “It’s nice to meet you Hamish; I’m Mrs. Hudson, I’m the owner of this bookshop.”

 

That caught Hamish’s attention. He raised his head to stare at Mrs. Hudson and whispered quietly, “You own all those books?”

 

She laughed softly, leaning in towards him. “I do, yes.”

 

Mrs. Hudson turned to look at John as he came to stand behind Hamish, resting a hand on the boys shoulder. At first her gaze was that of a stranger, polite but welcoming. Then she looked closer at him and her smile transformed into something warmer, and friendly. “John Watson, you really are all grown up.”

 

“Hello, Mrs. H,” John greeted her warmly, trying to summon some energy despite how exhausted he felt at the moment. The nickname came easily to him, as if time had just turned back on itself.

 

He gently squeezed Hamish’s shoulder. “This is my son, Hamish. Sorry, it was a long train ride for both of us.” John ran his fingers through the boy’s short blonde hair. “It’s been awhile, Mrs. H.”

 

“Yes, it has,” Mrs. Hudson agreed with a small nod. “It really is good to see you.” There was something sad in her smile, but John couldn’t tell for certain why. Was she sad it had taken him so long to find his way back to the village? He would prefer not to go into more detail about why he and Hamish were here now, beyond what he had told Mrs. Hudson over the phone.

 

Hamish had remained quiet throughout the conversation so far, but now he tilted his head back to look up at John. “You know Mrs. Hudson, dad?”

 

John offered him a small smile. “From a long time ago, Hamish. When I was young like you.”

 

Hamish laughed, his shoulders shaking. Like any child, he couldn’t imagine his dad as anything but an adult. “Did you have a bookshop then too?” He asked of Mrs. Hudson, looking very pleased by the idea.

 

“Well, young man, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Mrs. Hudson confided, bending down just a little so she and Hamish were at eye level. “You probably won’t believe this, but I did!” She tapped the side of her nose with a finger, winking at him. “I’ve had this bookshop for most of my life!”

 

“Cool!” Hamish breathed, nearly brimming with excitement. He leaned slightly to one side, trying to see around Mrs. Hudson to inside the bookstore behind her. “Can I see?”

 

“Please, Hamish,” John reminded him quietly.

 

“ _Please_ , can I see?” Hamish corrected, looking back to Mrs. Hudson with a wide smile.

 

“Of course, I can’t deny a boy who loves books,” Mrs. Hudson stepped aside just in time to dodge out of Hamish’s path as he hurried past her and inside the bookstore with a quick, “thanks!” called over his shoulder.

 

Once Hamish disappeared inside John shrugged his shoulder not carrying the duffel bag. “Sorry, he really does love books. But he usually has better manners.”

 

“Oh it’s all right, he seems like a very nice boy. You did a good job with him.” Mrs. Hudson told him kindly, but how could she really tell after only knowing him for several minutes. Still, there was suddenly a thickness in his throat.

 

“Thank you,” John replied since it was expected. “Listen, I’m not sure how long it will be before Hamish notices us again, so maybe we could talk inside?”

 

“Yes, how silly me, keeping you out here while the sun sets and it gets colder.” Mrs. Hudson turned to walk towards the door, waving at John to follow her. “Please, come inside.”

 

John obediently followed after her, looking forward to the warmth and light inside. Mrs. Hudson stepped inside, but John stopped just across the threshold to take the opportunity to look around.

 

“Would you like some tea? I may also have some biscuits left if you’re a bit peckish.” Mrs. Hudson called back to him as she walked towards the other end of the counter with the register off to his right.

 

“That would be great, thanks!” John replied, raising his voice a little to be heard. He slipped his pack off his shoulder and set it down on the floor, his shoulder throbbing in gratitude at the relief.

 

Hamish had disappeared somewhere within the depths of the bookstore, which was surprisingly much larger inside than it looked from the outside. There was likely a small special separate area for children in the back, where Hamish had settled in.

 

They were currently standing in the front room of the bookstore, where the newest books and magazines were displayed on tables or shelves at waist level. Beyond a space between two bookshelves on the other side of the room John could glimpse a little further into the bookstore where there were rows of bookshelves mixed in with tables covered with books.

 

As John glanced around the bookstore for just a second he thought he saw someone standing next to one of the bookshelves in the next room, but then he blinked and they were gone. He must just be very tired.

 

“Good news, I did find some biscuits, John!” Mrs. Hudson announced, reappearing through a door which must have led to a small kitchen. “The tea’s almost ready, it just needs another minute.” She set the plate of biscuits on the counter within reach and glanced towards the back of the bookstore. “Do you think Hamish will want some?”

 

John laughed as he took one of the biscuits, “No, he’ll be a while I think.” Hamish shared his love of tea but he also loved reading. The boy had probably already settled in comfortably for the next few hours.

 

* * *

This was one of the best bookshops Hamish had ever been in, he was sure of it. And he and his dad had gone to most of the bookshops near their flat in London. They’d all been fine, he’d always managed to find at least one book he liked.

 

But Mrs. Hudson’s was definitely the best ever.

 

He’d quickly found the children’s section in the very back of the bookstore. An entire room lined with bookcases and shelves and shelves of interesting looking books. There were even chairs and cushions to sit on!

 

Hamish was eyeing the cushions (if he stacked them up they’d make a really comfortable kind of chair), but at the moment he still had to find a book to read. It was a really hard decision, there were so many books to choose from.

 

He and his dad had just finished reading the second Harry Potter book together, but he had to wait for his dad to have time to start the next one. Everyone else liked adventure books or ones about daring rescues and knights. But Hamish’s favorite type of books were mysteries with surprise twists or books about science. He had his dad to thank for liking those.

 

Luckily it turned out Mrs. Hudson had a really large selection of his favorite types of books. Which was why choosing which one to read first was turning out to be really difficult.

 

Oh wait, he’d always wanted to read this one...

           

* * *

Sherlock Holmes, eternally twelve years old and an annoyance to his elder brother, materialized beside the chair where Mycroft was reading the paper with the proclamation of, “There’s new people in the bookshop!”

 

Mycroft, eternally nineteen years old and with only so much patience for his brother, calmly turned the page of the newspaper. He responded to his brothers dramatic proclamation with a quiet monotonal hum.

 

“Mycroft!” Sherlock would never admit his voice turned into a whine, but it did. A thin small arm interrupted his reading, creeping across the page to push it away and out of Mycroft’s range of vision. “You’re not listening.”

 

Well now he’d never be able to resume reading until Sherlock said whatever he wanted to say. “There was no reason for that, Sherlock,” Mycroft scolded quietly, folding the paper and setting it aside.

 

He turned back to his brother to find Sherlock waiting impatiently, staring at him as if he could will Mycroft to listen just by staring hard enough. “What was it you were saying, Sherlock?”

 

“There’s new people in the bookstore,” Sherlock repeated insistently, tightly gripping the arm of the chair as he leaned forward further into Mycroft’s space. “A boy and a man.”

 

That was all? Honestly, it was not worth interrupting his reading for this. “Honestly Sherlock, it might be late in the day but people do come in to the bookstore. The entire purpose of this place is for people to come and purchase books.”

 

Sherlock treated him to a very unimpressed look, even making a face at him. “You aren’t _listening_ , Mycroft!” He insisted, straightening to his full not very impressive height. “There are _new people_ in the bookstore. A man and a boy I haven’t seen in the bookstore or the village before.”

 

Mycroft froze, alarmed by this unexpected news. “Are you sure? We haven’t seen everyone in the village, it’s likely not everyone has visited this store. There are some people who don’t enjoy reading.”

 

“I’m sure, Mycroft!” Sherlock said, bouncing a little on his toes in irritation at not being taken seriously. “Mrs. Hudson invited them, they just arrived and I heard the man mention London. I think they’re staying for a while.”

 

“Well, this is an unexpected development.” Mycroft murmured to himself, leaning forward and steepled his hands under his chin. “Have you told Mummy, or Father?”

 

Sherlock slowly shook his head. “They’re somewhere else. I came to you first.” He glanced down at the floor beneath him, as if he could see through the solid wood floor boards. “Come take a look, see what you can observe from them.”

 

Mycroft took a moment to study his little brother, caught off guard by Sherlock’s interest in the new arrivals. In all the time they had been trapped within the confines of the bookstore Sherlock had rarely shown interest in any the people who came in. Of course while alive Sherlock had had little tolerance for the villagers, except for a rare few, so it wasn’t completely surprising. Yet for whatever reason Sherlock’s interest had been caught by these two new unexpected arrivals. He was even insisting Mycroft see them.

 

“All right,” Mycroft eventually acquiesced, slowly standing to his feet. He pointedly ignored Sherlock’s excited gasp, and when Sherlock began bouncing on his toes yet again Mycroft turned to grasp one of his flailing arms. “Show me then.”

 

Sherlock grinned at him, as he always did when Mycroft eventually gave in to his demands. He shifted to adjust Mycroft’s hold on his arm, then together they sank through the floor and down into the bookstore.

 

Many of the lights in the back section of the bookstore appeared to have been turned off, leaving the children’s area where they appeared mostly in shadow. The only light came from the daylight coming in through the windows. It was just enough to reveal the boy in the corner, only a year or so younger than Sherlock, with light blond hair curled up on a stack of cushions with a book open on his lap.

 

The title of the book was covered, but the boy appeared thoroughly engrossed in it. Sherlock tried to move forward even closer to the boy; luckily Mycroft still had a grip on his arm so he could restrain his brother.

 

“Sherlock, don’t,” Mycroft hissed, keeping his voice low so the boy wouldn’t be able to hear them. “Come here.”

 

“But Myc-” Sherlock protested, struggling without taking his eyes off the other boy.

 

What on earth was with Sherlock? He had at least previously understood why they avoided being seen by any visitors. Yet for some reason this boy had uniquely caught Sherlock’s attention.

 

“ _Sherlock_!” Mycroft snapped, forgetting himself for a moment in his irritation. He pulled Sherlock towards him, his brothers feet scrambling for a foothold.

 

From the pile of cushions in the corner of the room the younger boy’s head snapped up from where it was buried in his book, his eyes darting around the room.

 

“Hello?” He frowned faintly when he didn’t see anything and started looking around again more carefully.

 

Mycroft tugged Sherlock towards him, wrapping an arm around his brothers shoulders to keep him still. “Quiet,” he hissed in Sherlock’s ear.

 

Surprisingly, Sherlock listened. They waited for several long seconds as the boy seemed to examine every part of the room. His gaze reached where they were standing but then just passed without any pause. They were safe.

 

Then the boy unfolded from his comfortable pile of cushions, sliding forward to rest his feet on the floor. “Dad?” He called out towards the front of the bookshop, confirming he was here with a parent and from London as Sherlock had overheard.

 

No one answered his call. The boy stood up, twisted around to set his book on the chair behind him, and started walking towards the front of the bookstore.

 

Mycroft and Sherlock remained as quiet and still as possible as the boy walked past them; but he didn’t seem to see them at all. He just continued walking as if they weren’t even there.

 

As soon as he disappeared past the bookshelves that sectioned off the children's area from the rest of the store, Mycroft finally released Sherlock who immediately squirmed away from him.

 

“That was unnecessary!” Sherlock snapped at him, glaring fiercely under his curls. He tugged on the hem and cuffs of his jumper, readjusting them after Mycroft’s handling. “I wasn’t going to get caught, I just wanted a better look at him!”

 

“You were nearly caught, he obviously heard you,” Mycroft pointed out, loudly but still whispering just in case the boy was still in earshot. “We need to be careful, Sherlock. If these new people are staying here for any length of time we need to study them first. We can’t reveal ourselves until the appropriate time.”

 

“Don’t be overdramatic,” Sherlock scolded, sounding eerily similar to Mummy. But it was usually Sherlock getting the scolding. “We’ve been stuck in this same place for decades, Mycroft. And we’ve only had Mrs. Hudson to talk to.” His gaze skittered away and across the floor. “Wouldn’t you like someone else to talk with?”

 

Mycroft didn’t have an answer ready for that. Honestly, only being able to interact with his family and Mrs. Hudson had begun to wear thin lately. He’d begun taking refuge more and more in the pleasant silence and multitude of worlds outside the bookstore the books offered. The arrival of a father and son from London was an interesting development, but Mycroft believed they had to tread lightly until they were able to gather more information about the new arrivals.

 

Sherlock, true to his nature, reacted explosively to Mycroft’s silence. “All right, maybe you’re fine with being chained here forever and forever. But I’m not! It’s endlessly boring, and we haven’t been outside in decades.” He waved a flailing hand at the bookshelves they were surrounded by. “There’s only so much reading a person can stand after years and years!”

 

“Sherlock-” Mycroft began-

 

“Hello? Someone there?”

 

They both turned around at the unexpected voice to discover that the boy from earlier had returned. He was standing just beyond the bookshelves separating this section, a plate of biscuits in one hand and steaming mug of likely tea in his other.

 

And he was staring directly in Sherlock and Mycroft’s direction.

 

Mycroft, acting on impulse and necessity, moved to grab Sherlock and make them both disappear from the boy's sight.

 

But Sherlock neatly sidestepped his brother’s outstretched hand then turned to look directly at the boy. “Hello,” he greeted simply, hands stuffed into his pockets to hide his nerves.

 

* * *

 Hamish stared blankly at the two people who were somehow in the room he’d only just left a minute ago, even though he hadn’t seen anyone pass him.

 

They didn’t look like the type who would climb in through the windows or sneak in, if there were windows or a door back here Hamish didn’t know about. But if there weren’t… how were they here and how had he missed them?

 

He turned to look at the nearer dark haired boy who looked only a year or so older than him. He also looked like the more friendly of the two.

 

Determined, but mindful of the hot liquid he was holding and the plate of biscuits, Hamish turned and set the mug and plate on the empty space of the nearest bookshelf. He didn’t see the older ginger-haired boy wince behind his back at this.

 

Then Hamish turned around again and, following his father’s guidance for polite behavior, despite how much he disliked meeting new people (especially without his dad nearby), Hamish took a step forward and held out his hand.

 

“Hello, I’m Hamish. My dad and I are staying here with Mrs. Hudson for a while,” Hamish paused for breath, waiting for the other boy to say something or at least take his hand. When he didn’t, and just kept _staring_ , Hamish quickly continued talking, “Are you from the village? Sorry, of course you are. It’s really good to meet you, I was a bit worried about meeting other boys from here. But you seem nice.”

 

From a little behind him the older ginger-haired boy, who had remained silent and just watched them, began coughing.

 

The dark-haired boy whirled around in a flash of movement, hands still stuffed in his pockets, to lean forward as he fiercely glared at the other boy. “Quiet, Mycroft. This doesn’t involve you!”

 

“I think it does,” The older boy replied calmly in response to the other boys anger, getting his coughing- or probably laughing - under control. “You’ve just revealed our existence to this boy, without asking the rest of us,” he said, walking towards them to stop just beside the dark-haired boy. “Or will you promise not to tell?” He asked, eying Hamish in a way that made him feel uncomfortable.

 

“Um, well,” Hamish hemmed, not entirely sure what to say while still wanting to say the right thing.

 

As he stalled for time, fiercely thinking while avoiding the other boys’ eyes, outside the windows the sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon.

 

The sudden lack of sunlight almost immediately cast the room into near darkness, shadows lengthening so Hamish was left squinting to try to see. There was some light coming from the front of the store, but with all the bookcases and tables in between it was fractured.

 

As he looked at the other two boys in the altered light somehow they suddenly didn’t seem quite as corporeal.

 

He couldn’t really explain what exactly gave it away, it was a bunch of little things. In the near dark they looked almost translucent; he’d never seen any boys in London wearing clothes like theirs; and most of all, whenever he tried looking directly at them- focusing on them- they seemed to go slightly blurry at the edges.

 

Hamish glanced carefully between the two of them, no longer intimidated by the older one for the moment. Even though he was still eyeing Hamish warily as if he could read his thoughts and didn’t like where they were going. For some reason to Hamish’s eyes he looked more see through than the younger boy, and now Hamish looked closer his features were a little blurred.

 

The younger boy was watching him closely too, but he looked almost excited about the nearly impossible but somehow obvious conclusion Hamish had come to. He looked more real, though his clothes were outdated and he was slightly see through.

 

Hamish frowned slightly and finally accepted the obvious. He looked directly at the younger boy, meeting his pale eyes, and bluntly asked, “Are the two of you haunting Mrs. Hudson?”

 

The boys reaction was not what Hamish had expected. His face broke out into a wide grin and he pulled his hands from his pockets to clap them together loudly. “You figured it out! I thought you would,” he cried triumphantly, looking very delighted that Hamish had managed this feat of mental acrobatics.

 

Hamish, not entirely sure it was all that impressive, managed a weak smile. Now he knew the two people in front of him were actually ghosts (and they really did exist!) he suddenly felt a wave of discomfort. “Uhm, so you really are… ghosts.”

 

The boy’s smile dimmed slightly as he unclasped his hands and let them fall limply to his sides. Just over his shoulder the older boy’s mouth curled upward in an unpleasant smile that sent shivers down Hamish’s spine. “You don’t seem the skeptical type; in fact you were very willing to believe in ghosts only moments ago.” He angled his head slightly. “Have we upset your notion of reality?”

 

“No, no, that’s not it,” Hamish quickly denied, because he was sure of that at least. “I just… dad said we were moving out of London to a small village and honestly I didn’t know what to expect. But,” he finished, feeling a smile spreading across his face, “I really didn’t expect this. This is brilliant!”

 

The younger boy’s grin reappeared in full force, joining Hamish’s own smile in a conspiracy of excitement.

 

Hamish had thought living in this village was going to be ridiculously boring. But now he was finding out instead it was actually going to be full of excitement. Especially with these two ghosts that apparently haunted his new home.

 

The younger boy stepped forward, still smiling. “I’m Sherlock,” he introduced himself then half heartedly waved a hand at the older boy still lurking behind him. “That’s my brother, Mycroft.”

 

“Hello,” Hamish responded warmly with a slight wave, even offering the older boy a faint smile. “It’s fantastic to meet you.”

 

The now-named Sherlock clapped his hands together again, eyes alight with what Hamish hoped was just excitement. “This is brilliant, you’re the first exciting thing to happen in ages!”

 

His older brother, Mycroft, finally moved forward to stand next to Sherlock. He crossed his arms across his chest, still treating Hamish to a skeptical glance. But, somehow, Hamish could detect a slight hint of warmth in it now. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hamish. Please do not let my brother lead you into any trouble or dangerous situations. I’m sure you’re much more sensible than that.”

 

Hamish silently tried to make a mental count of just how many times his dad had (complained) about his self-sacrificing nature and how he tended to act rashly without thinking; but he lost count.

 

“I, will try,” Hamish promised, the best he could do at the moment since he didn’t know just how much trouble he and Sherlock could cause. Though he predicted it would be a lot.

 

Sherlock grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up behind his brothers back.

 

Hamish returned the grin in full force.

 

* * *

Martha Hudson hadn’t realized how long she and John Watson sat in the small room off the side of the bookstore, drinking tea and eating biscuits. It had been very pleasant to catch up with the man. His family had only come to the village for several summers nearly twenty years ago now, but she did remember him fondly. He had been a kind, inquisitive child; happy to sit in her bookstore reading all day just as much as he was to wander around the village.

 

She didn’t remember his sister or his mother quite as fondly, but she hadn’t interacted with them as much. In fact she barely remembered them at all.

 

John however, seemed to have grown up very well. He was just as charming and kind as she remembered, although there did seem to be some rough edges that had developed over the years. They’d only brushed on the topic of his deceased wife before John quickly changed the topic altogether, and he’d just as briefly mentioned his time abroad before forcibly turning the conversation back to her. Apparently now there were several minefield conversation topics she needed to navigate whenever talking to him. She did wish she’d known this earlier, but he’d been just as cryptic over the phone.

 

He did enjoy talking about Hamish and touting his son's accomplishments, which was rather sweet of him. Hamish seemed like a nice boy, however briefly she had interacted with him before he went off.

 

Speaking of… “John, should we check on Hamish and make sure he’s alright?”

 

John broke off in the middle of his latest story about Hamish’s misadventures to look at her in confusion. “We haven’t been long,” he said, lifting his arm to check the watch on his wrist. When he saw what time it was John nearly went white in surprise and quickly rose to his feet, nearly knocking the chair over in his hurry.

 

“I’m sorry Mrs. Hudson, I didn’t mean to keep you this long.” John drained the rest of his tea then set the mug back on the table. “Thank you for the tea and biscuits. I’ll round up Hamish and we’ll go settle in for the night.”

 

“There’s no rush, John,” Martha replied, slowly getting to her feet just as John was heading for the door. “It’s nice having company again. It gets a little lonely on my own.”

 

He paused just in the door, one hand wrapped around the side of the frame. Then after taking a deep breath John slowly turned around to face her again. She witnessed a very brief glimpse in his expression of the loneliness she felt on the longer, darker nights when she missed having someone around. Even just knowing someone was nearby if she needed. It was part of why she’d been happy to offer John the space to live when he came to the village. An easy choice really.

 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. H,” John finally replied, any hint of loneliness being erased by a weak attempt at a smile. “We’re not going anywhere.”

 

Then John turned and stepped through the doorway, vanishing from her sight and into the bookstore. She heard him walking away towards the back of the building, following his progress by the sounds of the floorboards creaking under his feet.

 

The children’s area was too far for her to overhear what John and Hamish were saying, so Martha picked up her and John’s mugs and the plate and took them to the sink. She didn’t often entertain guests in the bookstore, most of the time she entertained at her own place. But sometimes having a small side room in the bookstore to make tea and store biscuits in just in case was nice.

 

Only a few minutes later she heard two sets of footsteps coming back in her direction, so Martha set the rinsed dishes in the sink, dried her hands, and walked towards the door.

 

John and Hamish stopped just outside the door, Hamish carrying his empty mug and plate while John guided him with an arm around his shoulder.

 

Hamish grinned when he saw her, a new spark of excitement in his eyes. He quickly hurried towards her, holding out his dishes for her to take. But as she did, Hamish deliberately glanced over his shoulder towards the back area of the bookstore… and _winked_.

 

Martha frowned at him, not understanding what he was trying to tell her. She took the plates and mugs from him, and looked over Hamish’s head at John. But John was just smiling, looking amused.

 

So she looked back to Hamish, who grinned and winked at her one last time before he turned and walked back to his father.

 

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. H,” John told her with a wave before they both walked past the table, towards the front of the bookstore and the front door. Hamish waved to her as well just before they disappeared between the bookshelves.

 

A slight noise distracted her from the sound of John and Hamish retrieving their luggage and opening the front door. She turned to look, only to see Sherlock standing half-hidden by the nearest bookcase staring intently in the direction Hamish and John had left in.

 

Martha realized she hadn’t seen Sherlock, or Mycroft in fact, for most of the day. And it had somehow slipped her mind to tell any of them they were about to have permanent guests.

 

“Oh, Sherlock,” she said softly over the sound of Hamish and John leaving through the front door. Martha quickly set the dishes down on the counter before walking towards Sherlock, holding out her hands even though she knew he couldn’t take them. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I forgot to tell you.”

 

She knew how Sherlock was about new people, even more than the rest of the family. He rarely made an appearance during the day when the store was open or when there was anyone else in the store. There wasn’t really anyone else in the village he willingly interacted with, except for Officer Lestrade every once in awhile. And then it had slipped her mind to mention their new guests, leaving Sherlock to be forced to hide away unexpectedly.

 

Sherlock slowly turned to look at her, and to her surprise his pale eyes were shining with excitement as his mouth split into a wide grin.

 

She paused mid step, shocked by his reaction. “Sherlock?” She asked quietly, cautiously.

 

“Hamish is fantastic! Is he really going to stay here permanently?” Sherlock asked rapidly. He glanced back towards the front of the store, as if he couldn’t tear himself away for long.

 

“I believe he is, yes.” Martha agreed, a warm flame of pride in him slowly growing in her chest. He’d never reacted this way to anyone else in the village, as far as she knew he treated everyone else with the same bored disinterest.

 

Perhaps it was a good thing John and Hamish had come to this village, for even more reasons than she’d imagined.

 

Violet Holmes appeared beside Sherlock, placing her hand on her younger sons shoulder. “I heard we have may new permanent guests, is this true?” She asked, addressing Martha and sounding seriously interested in the answer.

 

“Word travels fast,” Martha replied with a small smile, glancing to Sherlock who was still staring almost transfixed out the window.

 

Mycroft walked up, appearing from the aisle leading to the back of the shop. “I spoke to Hamish for a while as well, Mummy.” He told Violet, meeting her eyes over Sherlock’s head. “He seems like a very nice intelligent boy.”

 

Sherlock tore his eyes away from the window to turn just enough to glare accusingly at his brother. “You barely said anything to him!”

 

Mycroft lowered his gaze to meet Sherlock’s glare with a patient look in return. “Perhaps not, but you said more than enough.”

 

“Boys,” Violet scolded sharply, tightening her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. She treated them both to a reproaching look which they both eventually wilted under.

 

After both Mycroft and Sherlock offered a mumbled apology, Violet returned her attention to Martha. “And this boy's father, what do you know of him?”

 

“John?” Martha asked, possibly more surprised than she should be by the question. Violet and her sons were very alike; they insisted on being told all the available information.

 

“He’s a good man. His family summered here for a few years almost twenty years ago now. Apparently he had a hard time of it in the last few years, but he’s a good, honest man. He seems to be a good father to Hamish as well.” Martha shared, thinking of her conversation with John over the phone and here tonight. If there was anyone her resident ghostly family would accept Martha was certain it would be John and Hamish.

 

“Well, I trust your judgement, Martha,” Violet told her kindly. She looked back and forth between Sherlock and Mycroft who were pointedly ignoring each other. “You always were a good judge of character.”

 

“Oh, I do have one request,” Martha quickly announced. She did not want John and Hamish to decide to lead for any reason, and she needed the help of these three to prevent that ever happening.

 

After she made sure she had the three Holmes’ attention, Martha went on. “I’m sure you all will agree that we do not want John and Hamish to change their minds and decide to return to London... for whatever reason.”

 

Sherlock looked panicked at even the suggestion of this, so Martha quickly held up her hands and attempted to reassure him. “I doubt that would ever happen; but to make absolutely certain, there are several things we should avoid. John recently lost his wife, so please avoid anything that may remind him. He was also a soldier and, from what I gathered, managed to survive a rather traumatic experience. So,” Martha instructed, giving Sherlock an especially stern look, “Please avoid anything that may startle, shock, or scare him. No pranks, and no disruptive experiments.”

 

After a breath Martha finished addressing her attentive audience with, “I want both Hamish and John to think of this place as home and be just as comfortable here as you are. Sometimes it’s important for a family to spread its wings.”

 

Violet looked contemplative, as if she was considering the possibility of her family expanding to include John and Hamish. Sherlock gave her a slow, solemn nod in response. Mycroft, was as inscrutable as ever. But she knew he would do whatever was best for his family.

 

Martha could only hope this would last.

 

* * *

Settling into their new home was smoother than expected but did still have a few obstacles.

 

John woke up early the next morning, before Hamish and Mrs. Hudson, and left the house to meet the movers who had been tasked with the transportation of all their belongings. They were driving all the way from their old house after John and Hamish had gone ahead of them yesterday.

 

He left a note for Mrs. Hudson, since it had slipped his mind to tell her this earlier, said goodbye to a barely awake Hamish, and ran out the door.

 

Hamish woke up an hour or so later, since he didn’t have to wake up early for school and his dad hadn’t made him go along with him. He didn’t usually sleep in late, Hamish was just as much an early riser as his dad, but it had been a long day yesterday and he’d been tired.

 

Which meant he could have a quiet, relaxed breakfast with Mrs. Hudson downstairs in their new kitchen. She made a much fancier fry up than his dad had ever tried, successful or not. There was food he usually only ate when they went out to eat somewhere nice.

 

It didn’t take Mrs. Hudson very long, only a few leading questions really, before Hamish was nearly narrating his entire life so far to her. The only topic he carefully skipped over, between a discussion of his favorite books and his favorite subjects in school, was his mother. Both Hamish and John seemed unwilling to discuss that at all, so Martha reluctantly followed their lead. Instead she listened as Hamish eagerly told her about nearly everything else in his life.

 

Listening to Hamish go on and on about himself over a breakfast the boy eagerly wolfed down was such a nice change from sitting in her own kitchen alone. Of course sometimes Sherlock or Violet visited her in her own place upstairs and could be tempted into a conversation. But for the most part the Holmes’ stayed to themselves and remained downstairs in the bookstore. Sherlock was really the only one who ventured beyond the confines of the bookstore to visit her kitchen or small sitting area upstairs. He was also the only Holmes who did not seem to have a solid concept of personal boundaries.

 

More often than not he was a pleasant visitor. Sherlock was a nice boy, sadly forced into a permanent and awful situation he couldn’t help. None of them could change anything. It wasn’t his fault he and his family were trapped within the confines of a single building.

 

Martha smiled across the table at Hamish who was still talking about his favorite Christmas present of a bike last year, gesturing wildly with one hand and holding his fork forgotten in his other hand. So much energy; he and Sherlock were bound to get on famously.

 

When Hamish appeared to have stopped for breath Martha asked quickly into the silence, “Hamish, why don’t you help me in the bookstore today? I would love your company and I’m sure Sherlock would join us.”

 

Hamish’s mouth snapped shut and he glanced down, looking guilty. “I’m supposed to work on my studies. Dad said I need to catch up before I go back to school next week.”

 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Martha tsked, waving away even the idea. “You can work on your studies any time before then. I can help you, so can Sherlock and Mycroft’s parents. They’re all much smarter than I am.” She leaned in across the table, winking at him. “How about today, you help me in the bookstore and I can show you around a little.”

 

Hamish looked like he was just on the verge of agreeing to this. “I do want to help where I can in the bookstore, you’ve been so nice to us.” He carefully set his fork down on his plate then pushed it towards the middle of the table. “If you don’t mind helping me with my studies I’d be grateful. I like English and Science, but I’m not very good at maths. Or History.”

 

Martha laughed. “Well I can promise that the Holmes’ will definitely be able to help you with those. Mycroft and Violet also know a little French if you’re interested in learning any languages.”

 

Hamish wrinkled his nose. “I, don’t think so.”

 

“All right then,” Martha pushed back her chair and stood up, picking up her plate. “Let’s get these things cleared away and tidied then we can go over to the bookstore.”

 

That was all that was needed for Hamish to follow her lead as he stood and gathered up his own dishes. Working together they were able to leave the house and head for the bookstore less than half an hour later.

 

Almost just as soon as Martha unlocked the front door of the bookstore and waved Hamish inside ahead of her, Sherlock appeared behind the counter. First it was just the very top of his head that appeared, then the rest of him appeared when he saw it was them.

 

Hamish took a few steps inside just as Sherlock darted out from behind the counter to meet them. He stopped himself just in time, inches away from Hamish, and greeted them both with an excited smile. “Hello.”

 

“Good morning, Sherlock,” Martha greeted him in return, fighting down her laughter. She looked down to see Hamish’s current smile rivaled Sherlock’s. “Hamish will be joining us today.”

 

“Will he, how wonderful,” Violet commented from where she had appeared in front of the first row of bookcases. She smiled kindly at Hamish, “Sherlock has spoken quite a lot about you.”

 

Hamish took a slight step back into Martha, glancing between Sherlock and Violet with a slight frown. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally managing a quiet, “Has he?”

 

“Yes, he has. I’m sorry we didn’t meet last night, dear,” Violet replied, stepping forward until she was standing just behind her son. “I’m Violet, Sherlock and Mycroft’s mother.”

 

“Oh,” Hamish murmured, his smile recovering. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Martha took a risk and lightly rested her hands on Hamish shoulders. She leaned over him slightly as she explained, “I was telling Hamish how glad we are he and his father have come to stay with us. It had become slightly, quiet, around the village lately.”

 

Sherlock visibly rolled his eyes so hard it may have pained him. “This village has become boring you mean. There’s nothing exciting ever.”

 

“Sherlock.” Violet scolded, shaking her head at her son.

 

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms. “The bookstore’s brilliant though. Mrs. Hudson has tons of interesting books.” He flashed a smile over at Mrs. Hudson, brightening.

 

“I’m sure you’ll be an exceptional addition to our home here, Hamish,” Violet agreed, happily watching her son and Hamish. “Why don’t the three of us give you a tour of the bookstore. I know neither of my sons thought to do so last night.”

 

“He doesn’t need a tour, this place isn’t large enough,” Sherlock declared dismissively, walking over to where Hamish stood. “Come with me, I’ll show you my favorite sections and books here.”

 

Hamish took barely long enough to glance at Martha and Violet before he turned and followed Sherlock further into the bookstore. “Thank you for the offer,” floated back to them from over his shoulder.

 

Once they were out of sight Violet turned to Martha with a conspiratorial smile. “They seem to be getting on fairly well.”

 

“Amazingly, yes. I’m not sure whether John will be around all the time, he mentioned he was going to talk to someone at the hospital nearby to see if they had work for him. But he did say he’d help with the store as well. So it’s wonderful Hamish seems to get on with all of us here and enjoys the store.”

 

A loud burst of laughter drifted in from the back area of the store, followed by what sounded like a pile of books being knocked over. “Hopefully they won’t cause too much trouble for us.”

 

“It sounds like they’ve already made a start,” Violet laughed fondly. “There’s no need for you or John Watson to worry, I know they’ll be just fine here.”

 

* * *

 

Several hours later Sherlock and Hamish were still hiding somewhere in the back of the bookstore, yet to be seen again but easily heard.

 

Martha had opened the bookstore despite not expecting many customers, especially not at this time of day. Thankfully only a handful of people had come in so far, and none of them had stayed long.

 

None had also ventured farther than the front area with the two large wooden tables piled with popular paperback and hardcover books. Which was a relief because if they had then they could have discovered Violet, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Hamish settled on the floor and in the chairs in the back room talking.

 

That was, if they could see the Holmes’. Not everyone was able to. They weren’t quite sure why that was yet.

 

While Martha had been visiting them between customers Hamish revealed that school was not his favorite and that certain subjects were not his favorite. Mycroft and Violet were momentarily shocked, and then promptly started trying to change Hamish’s mind.

 

Sherlock sat by watching and listening, while his brother and mother tried to persuade Hamish about the importance of Math and History in his schooling. Meanwhile Hamish wittily replied explaining the importance of Science and English.

 

Martha was fairly sure they were all in agreement and just refused to say so. But she stayed quiet and so did Sherlock.

 

In the end Violet and Mycroft together agreed to help Hamish with his studies as necessary. They seemed very certain they could change his mind, and Hamish seemed to agree to let them try. It was at least all mutual and if it ended with Hamish being better at his studies then everyone would be happy.

 

~~~

 

Martha fingered the letter still burning a hole in her pocket, trying to prepare herself for what may come next. She had read it more than a dozen times now, probably to the point of being able to recite it by heart.

 

But it didn’t matter how well she knew the letter because she still didn’t know exactly she had received it. The letter had contained multiple threats, but none she could actually prevent. She’d had the letter for nearly a week now and that entire time it had remained hidden away in her pocket. The edge of the page was nearly frayed from her habitual fingering of the paper.

 

For nearly a week Martha had experienced horrible thoughts about what could happen to all of them if she continued ignoring the letter. She was left feeling anxious and almost constantly distracted, which hadn’t escaped both the Watson’s and Holmes’ notice.

 

John had pulled her aside during a quiet moment to ask if she wanted him to take over anything else in the bookstore or if she needed something to help her sleep. Martha had politely refused and returned to work, but she silently appreciated his worrying. Violet and Mycroft had noticed something was wrong, but didn’t in fact attempt to ask her about it. Instead, as could be expected, they’d tried to take care of things on their own while also keeping out a watchful eye.

 

And Martha had been fine, for a while. It wasn’t a solution, but it was at least an attempt at keeping them safe. Now though the letter had eaten away at her until she could no longer keep it secret from the people around her.

 

Which meant, some secrets finally had to be shared.

 

Martha waited until Hamish was off somewhere with John before she called for her resident ghostly family.

 

Mycroft appeared first, still holding the book he must have been reading. He glanced up at her, and apparently the expression on her face was enough that he quickly closed it.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?” He asked with a faint frown, sounding and looking quite worried about her. Mycroft’s eyes picked up on her hand still in her pocket but he didn’t point it out.

 

Violet and Siger appeared next near the bookshelf on the other side of the aisle, their arms linked together and chatting quietly with one another.

 

“Martha?” Violet turned to look at her, lightly patting her husband's arm as he went quiet. “What’s wrong, has something happened?”

 

Martha took a moment to look at the people she’d gathered around her, and how they all looked worried for her even though she had tried to keep this from them. And now look where that had led them.

 

“There’s something I’ve been hiding from you,” she finally confessed, slowly pulling the letter out of her pocket. “I know some of you have suspected. It seems I haven’t kept this as secret as I wanted. But,” Martha sighed, closing her eyes. “I was just trying to protect you, and the bookstore.”

 

“Mrs. Hudson, whatever it is there’s no reason for you to take it all on yourself. You were kind enough to allow us to stay here despite not having been given much of a choice.” Siger offered in his quiet reassuring way, giving her such an understanding look that she hadn’t expected. “So please, tell us.”

 

It was exactly what she needed to hear to find the strength to finally pull the letter from her pocket and hold it out to them.

 

“I received this nearly a week ago, now,” Martha started to explain. “I didn’t think much of it at first; throughout the years I’ve owned this bookstore I’ve received plenty of letters with offers to purchase this place. Many from misguided men who couldn’t believe a woman could run a successful business on her own.”

 

She quietly tsked, remembering such a letter and some of the awful insults and backhanded remarks it had contained. She had never been tempted to respond to any of the letters or even gave a moment's thought to giving her bookstore away; in fact that letter in particular had just toughened her resolve to keep it open as long as possible.

 

Mycroft set his book on a nearby shelf and stepped forward to take the letter from her, gently tugging it out of her fingers.

 

“This, however, is something else entirely.” Martha still couldn’t look away from the letter in Mycroft’s hand; it might physically be out of her hands but she still couldn’t relax. “Whoever wrote it will not simply leave us alone. They seem very serious about their threats, so I’m sure we’ll hear from them again. And it will likely not just be a letter.”

 

Violet and Siger exchanged looks then walked forward to stand on either side of Mycroft, who held the letter up so all of them could see.

 

_‘Dearest Martha Hudson,_

_My deepest apologies for having our first contact be by letter, but I was just too impatient to wait until I meet you in person._

_You see I am very,_ very _interested in your little bookstore. It sounds just too quaint and adorable, running a bookshop in a small touristy little village like yours. And it’s quite a feat you’ve been able to keep your doors open for what, nearly three decades now? Very impressive. It’s almost as if you had found yourself a little luck charm. Or perhaps, charms plural? There must be something about your bookstore that keeps bringing people in. I wonder what that could be. It couldn’t be your stock of books, could it? A small, village bookstore like yours. I doubt you have anything particularly expensive, or rare in your bookshop. That, would just not make sense. How would someone like you manage to get anything like that?_

 _And I imagine it must be very lonely in that bookstore, all by yourself with only your books for company. I very much doubt any of the other people in the village must be very good company, they’re probably_ painfully _boring. How do you manage it Martha Hudson, it must be terribly exhausting._

_If you’re wondering, a little birdie told me about your bookstore. She seemed awfully intrigued and excited about it. You, your bookstore, and your books in particular. Of course she wouldn’t tell me what exactly intrigued her so much… she did like her secrets. But it was enough to make me curious._

_So after I tie up a few… loose ends… here in the city, I will come visit you. There’s nothing quite like seeing the truth in person, I find._

_I can’t wait to meet you in person, Martha Hudson. And whoever else there might be to meet me. Sounds quite exciting._

_J.M.’_

 

Martha waited while they read through it, silently fretting. She knew nothing could physically happen to them, since they were all no longer alive. But they were still like family. The consequences of this letter would affect all of them equally.

 

Martha glanced past the three of them, looking for Sherlock. He was usually the first to appear whenever she called. But the boy was nowhere in sight; unless he was lurking nearby and choosing to stay hidden.

 

“Mrs. Hudon, whoever wrote this letter is a very real and dangerous threat,” Mycroft stated plainly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen as the letter was read. “He makes serious threats towards yourself and the bookstore, in fact he seems specifically interested in the contents of your bookstore. And he may not specify what he plans to do, but we should absolutely not ignore this person.”

 

“How long was it since you received this?” Violet asked cautiously, side-eying the letter Mycroft was still holding.

 

Siger took the letter from his son and read it through all over again. “You said it’s been nearly a week, didn’t you? And you haven’t heard anything else from this person?”

 

“Not yet no,” Martha shook her head, thinking of the piles of mail taking up part of her kitchen counter. “But if he does make contact again, I’m sure we’ll know.”

 

“Have you told Officer Lestrade?” Violet asked seriously, surprising Martha. Officer Lestrade was a nice enough man and did his part in protecting their village. But there was no need to involve him in a small dispute over her bookstore.

 

“You obviously haven’t,” Siger said on her behalf as he handed the letter over to Violet. “True there’s not much he could do himself, but even a more dedicated police presence may help to keep this person away.”

 

“I suppose so,” Martha agreed, just a little reluctant. She liked Lestrade but she would rather keep this entire, issue, within the small family at the bookstore. “However, I did have a different idea I’d hoped you would all agree to.”

 

The three Holmes’ exchanged similarly worried and skeptical glances, before Violet was finally the one to turn to her and ask kindly, “And what idea was that, dear?”

 

“Well,” Martha began slowly, wringing her hands a little because she wasn’t sure how much convincing they would need. She knew they were a private bunch. “I’d like to tell John Watson about all of you.”

 

When none of them said anything, at least not right away, Martha quickly continued, “He already suspects a little. I mean Hamish does talk about Sherlock quite a bit, and John’s mentioned Hamish’s schoolwork has improved. Plus John can in fact be very observant, at times.”

 

“And, what exactly do you think his reaction will be?” Siger asked, a hint of doubt in his voice despite his faint smile. “People don’t expect ghosts to actually haunt bookstores.”

 

“True,” Martha laughed, remembering her own shocked reaction when she realized her bookstore was suddenly inhabited by a very familiar family, now unexpectedly ghosts. “But if anyone else would be opened-minded enough to believe me and take it as the truth, John Watson would. And if we have Hamish involved to prove it, John will definitely believe us.”

 

Violet and Mycroft didn’t look as convinced as Siger about the merits of her idea.

 

“What would be the point of telling John Watson? Hamish already knows.” Mycroft interrupted impatiently, sounding set against this idea. “Why involve John Watson? Especially when there is this looming and very dangerous threat we don’t know how to prevent.”

 

“I believe that’s why Mrs. Hudson is saying we should tell him,” Violet stepped in, resting a comforting hand on her older sons shoulder. “And I do see her point; with this level of serious unknown threat we’d be wise to involve John Watson as well. This place has become just as important to John and Hamish as it is to us. I’m sure they’d be more than willing to help us.”

 

“I’m sure Hamish would want to be involved, and John will as well,” Martha quickly agreed, smiling a little at how quickly Hamish had been accepted by the Holmes’ and cared about by them. “It’s time John was introduced to the rest of you, don’t you agree?”

 

“Did you have a plan for revealing our existence to John Watson, or were you simply planning to spring it on him?” Siger asked with a slightly skeptical raise of his eyebrows. “I believe you did mention he doesn’t tend to enjoy surprises.”

 

“Perhaps he already knows,” Mycroft added doubtfully, crossing his arms and looking away from them.

 

Violet turned her head to give her older son a stern look. “Enough, Mycroft. I understand you’re worried about what might happen if someone else learns about us. But I’m sure Martha knows John well enough to be absolutely certain he can keep our existence a secret and that he won’t do anything to harm the rest of us. So please, enough.”

 

Mycroft was quiet, accepting this; until he finally nodded, hanging his head a little. “Very well, I suppose if Mrs. Hudson endorses John then I accept her judgement. And Hamish is a credit to his parenting. The boy is quite intelligent and talented.”

 

“All right,” Martha announced, grateful for the unified agreement between all of them; then she took the letter back from Violet when it was held out to her. “Since we don’t know whenever this person may make contact again, I’d rather tell John as soon as possible.”

 

It took her only a moment to decide when her next chance to get John alone was. She did enjoy having the Holmes’ around in the bookstore, but it was nice having actual physical hands to help her with the day to day things. “I need to go to the market tomorrow, I’ll ask John to come with and help me. I’ll tell him then while we’re shopping.”

 

“In public?” Violet clarified, wrinkling her nose a little at the idea. “Where anyone could overhear?”

 

“We’ll be fine,” Martha quickly reassured, looking around at her ghostly family. “Most of the villagers will only try to engage us in polite conversation, and it won’t last long. John and I will be careful.”

 

“No need to worry, Martha,” Siger told her kindly. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing. We trust you.”

 

With their existence a closely guarded secret and a dangerous threat lurking in the shadows just waiting to strike when they all least expected it, that level of trust settled rather heavily on her shoulders.

 

But Martha refused to let them down, no matter what may happen.

 

* * *

 

The next day Martha managed to convince John to come with her to the outdoor market to purchase groceries. He didn’t take much convincing; in fact, they both needed the fresh air. And it was past time for him to learn his way around the village like a citizen.

 

They stopped by the vegetable stands first, picking over the large amount of offerings since it was still. John stood next to her, holding the basket they’d brought with as she carefully placed her purchases inside. The owner of the stand Mr. Thompson greeted them pleasantly enough, but Martha did catch him treating John to a slightly suspicious look.

 

This continued as they made their way along the rows of stalls, stopping so often to purchase more or calling a greeting to a stall owner who was busy with other customers. Martha found herself greeted and engaged in small talk while John was greeted but pointedly not paid attention to after.

 

Martha said nothing, but she found herself becoming more short with the owners and moving on as quickly as possible. Remaining beside her John returned smiles and polite greetings but a sharpness was growing behind it.

 

Finally when they had left the fruit stand and were moving towards the large table laid out with baked goods, John lightly took her arm and guided her towards a corner out of the path of traffic.

 

Once they were alone with a wide empty space around them, John turned to her and asked very seriously, “Mrs. Hudson, I’d like to ask you something. It will probably sound ridiculous but I just have to ask.”

 

Martha sighed quietly, feeling a little terrible at how her fellow villagers were treating this kind, wonderful man. She shifted the strap of her bag slightly on her shoulder. “It isn’t you, John. You’re a wonderful man. It’s just that some people who have lived in a village their entire lives aren’t always welcoming of strangers, at first. Don’t worry, they’ll grow to like you I promise.”

 

John paused, his mouth half open. He looked at her, very confused, and brow wrinkled. “What? No, it isn’t that. I’ve lived in London, I’m used to being left to myself.”

 

His feet shuffled on the uneven paved stones of the market square. “It’s about your bookstore. Don’t get me wrong, I really like the place and I know Hamish does as well. It’s just…” He trailed off, visibly searching to find the right words without sounding, as he’d put it, ridiculous.

 

“What is it, John?” Martha asked, hoping to help. She wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask, but she could hope. He was more observant than he let on, and she knew Hamish had talked to him about his new friend Sherlock all the time but as far as John knew Sherlock had never come over to the bookstore. And John had also mentioned to her once or twice how things seemed to have a tendency to be misplaced in the store, as well as how sometimes- when there were no customers in the store- he thought he could hear people but never saw them.

 

“I know it only happens in stories, and they’re not actually real, but-” after a further silent struggle John finally took a deep breath and straightened to his full height, looking directly at her. “Is it possible your bookstore is haunted?”

 

Martha couldn’t help it. For a second she was just stunned, completely taken aback. Then she broke into laughter; delighted, giddy laughter.

 

John’s confidence quickly dissolved into shock. “Mrs. Hudson?” He asked, setting down the basket with their purchases to reach out towards her. “Are you alright?”

 

Martha more or less managed to get a hold of herself so she was able to straighten, wiping away her tears. “I’m fine John. It’s just that we were wondering when you we finally going to ask. In fact, one of the reasons I asked you to come with today was so I could tell you.”

 

John’s arms dropped back to his sides as he stared at her. “‘We’? So it’s _true_?”

 

Martha took a step forward, and reached down to pick up the basket. She handed it back to John then looped her arm through his. “Come on John, let’s take a walk.”

 

He willingly followed after her, picking up the basket to hold it in one hand and let her pull him along. “Mrs. Hudson-”

 

“You and your mother and sister were here in the village about twenty years ago weren’t you?” Martha began conversationally, lightly patting his hand. “Do you remember hearing anything about the Holmes’?”

 

“‘The Holmes’?’” John repeated blankly, letting her lead him along without paying much attention to where exactly they were going. “The name sounds vaguely familiar… are they the family who lived in the large house just outside the village?”

 

“They were yes, for many years,” Martha agreed, making a point to use the past tense. It was difficult to know exactly how to talk or what to say about the Holmes’. “That is, until there was a tragic incident.”

 

“What sort of tragic incident?” John asked curiously. “What happened?”

 

“Sadly there was an enormous fire that consumed the entire house, only the stone chimney remained once it was extinguished. And I’m afraid none of the family survived, they all passed in the fire.” Martha still felt chills when she remembered Officer Lestrade pounding on her door in the middle of the night with the horrible news that the Holmes’ had all perished in a fire.

 

“That’s awful,” John said quietly, staying close to her in the sudden wave of people moving in the opposite direction. “What a horrible way to die. I don’t think I ever met any of them, but I imagine they were nice people. Sorry Mrs. Hudson, but what does this have to do with your haunted bookstore?”

 

“Well,” Martha took up her story where she’d left off, nodding a greeting to the grocer's wife. “It was an awful tragedy, and all the village could talk about for the next month or so. In that time someone came around and took care of what little was left, and we all thought that was the end of it.”

 

John was nodding along, listening and paying attention. But she could tell he was waiting for her to reach the point of her story. “So imagine my surprise when a chest of books which apparently survived the fire turned up on my doorstep one day. Many of them were the more usual titles, but there were also several rare copies and editions. As well as favorites from their personal collections.”

 

“Of the Holmes’ you mean?” John asked, looking puzzled. “You must have been very close to them.”

 

Martha found herself smiling fondly at the memories of all the times she’d spent with Sherlock and Violet especially, but also Mycroft and Siger, back when they were alive. “I like to think so, yes. Most of the villagers preferred to leave them alone and not interact with any of the family. They were too… different. But I rather enjoyed spending time with them. Violet and Sherlock were particularly enjoyable to be around.”

 

“‘Sherlock’?” John echoed in surprise, turning sideways against the crowd to look directly at her. “As in Hamish’s friend Sherlock?”

 

Martha smiled a little at him, teasing. “How many other people do you think would name their child Sherlock? Or Mycroft even.”

 

John’s expression went through a bit of facial gymnastics as he tried to absorb this almost impossible information about the friend Hamish spoke almost constantly about. Finally he settled on, “So you’re saying it’s the Holmes’ who are haunting your bookstore? How, how does that even happen? Ghosts aren’t real.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t agree with you on that, since I’ve had a family of ghosts haunting my bookstore for many years now,” Martha told him honestly. “I’ve found it rather enjoyable really, they’re good company.”

 

“Do you know why they’re still in your bookstore? In stories there’s always something keeping them here.” John asked, looking intrigued by the idea now rather than just complete disbelief like before.

“I’m sure Mycroft and Violet have tried looking into or researching what happened, but I don’t know what they’ve found. It isn’t as if they’re malevolent ghosts, they’re not trying to find revenge for what happened.” Martha explained quickly, not wanting John to think poorly of the Holmes’. “They can be quite helpful in fact. And they enjoy reading through my collection of books.”

 

“Hamish did mention he and Sherlock seem to like the same types of books.” John went quiet as they wove their way through the rest of the crowd and finally out of the market square. Martha glanced over at him a few times but he didn’t look upset that she could tell; just thoughtful.

 

They’d walked several blocks back in the direction of the bookstore, keeping to the edges of the pavement, when John suddenly cleared his throat.

 

“Mrs. Hudson,” he began slowly, looking and sounding very uncertain. “Would it be possible for me to meet them? Properly, I mean.”

 

“Of course, John,” Martha reassured him, lightly patting his shoulder. “In fact I’m sure they’re just as eager to meet you.”

 

John looked relieved at this news. He didn’t shrug off her shoulder but instead turned to smile at her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

They were just turning the corner to walk up the street towards her bookstore and their homes when Officer Lestrade ran over from the other road.

 

“Mrs. Hudson!” He called, as if they didn’t see him as he stumbled to a stop in front of them. “Oh, hello, John.”

 

“Hello, Lestrade,” John greeted in return, shifting his hold on the basket he was carrying. He offered a smile, “How are you?”

 

“Good thanks,” Lestrade replied warmly with a faint smile. He was one of the few villagers who had happily welcomed John and Hamish to the village.

 

He turned his attention to Mrs. Hudson, looking faintly worried. “Mrs. Hudson, there’s something I need to talk with you about.”

 

Without any hesitation Martha turned so she faced both John and Lestrade and declared, “Whatever you need to say you can say in front of John as well.”

 

Lestrade didn’t appear quite as certain. He frowned and briefly glanced at John before asking Martha in a not very quiet whisper, “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, now what is it you wanted to say?” Martha insisted, wanting to hear what he was so eager to say so they could head home.

 

“I haven’t seen him myself, but I’ve heard from several people that they’ve seen a younger man with dark hair in a fancy suit lurking around the village, asking specifically about you and the bookstore.” Lestrade explained in a hushed voice, leaning in closer as he looked around them. “He didn’t give a name, but everyone he spoke to didn’t like him at all. They said he gave off an ill feeling.”

 

Martha tried not to give in to the chills suddenly creeping up her spine at this news. It wasn’t completely unexpected since she had been expecting some kind of trouble ever since she received that threatening letter a week or so ago. But she still wished they had been given more time to enjoy themselves.

 

“Thank you, Lestrade.” Martha thanked him, trying to hide her growing worry. How had the man managed to arrive in the village so quietly? “I do appreciate the warning.”

 

Lestrade, experienced officer and thoughtful man that he was, didn’t seem reassured by her only slightly worried response. “Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Hudson? I don’t like the sound of this man, I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

 

“We’ll be fine, Lestrade,” Martha repeated, lightly patting his arm as a way to try and show her gratitude for him worrying about them. “But thank you, again. You’re a good man.”

 

“Well, all right then,” Lestrade reluctantly conceded, taking a step back from them towards the road. “If you’re sure. But call me if you need anything, or want any backup.”

 

“We will,” John spoke up now, offering Lestrade a grateful nod of his own. “Appreciate it.”

 

Lestrade nodded to both of them before he turned around and started walking back down the road away from them, hands in the pockets of his coat.

 

When he was out of hearing distance Martha turned to John, leaning in close to him in case anyone was listening or watching them. “There’s something I need to show you, but we need to get back to the bookstore, as quick as possible.”

 

John picked up on her distress, worry starting to seep into his voice. “Mrs. Hudson, what’s going on? Who is this stranger, what does he want?”

 

Martha began walking again, guiding John up the street towards the bookstore. The letter was still safely stored in her pocket, and always with her. In answer to John’s question she slipped it out and handed the paper over to John.

 

They walked silently but quickly, John managing to keep pace with her as he read the letter at the same time. She could tell when he’d finished because she heard him draw in a shaky breath. “Mrs. Hudson…”

 

“It’ll be fine, John. You’ll see,” Martha quickly cut him off, managing to sound much more confident than she felt. “Now, let’s go introduce you to our other residents.”

 

The ‘closed’ sign was hanging in the window when they arrived, and the lights were off, but when she tried it the door was unlocked and opened at her touch. She couldn’t remember if she had forgotten to lock it behind her earlier; from now on they needed to follow all precautions possible to keep them all safe.

 

Martha pushed it open the rest of the way and waved John inside ahead of her, since he was carrying all the groceries. Once they were both safely inside, while John set the basket down on the floor next to the door Martha turned back and firmly locked the door.

 

“This way,” she announced, starting off towards the back of the bookstore. When John didn’t immediately follow her Martha waved to him so he would follow. She didn’t want introductions to happen in the front room just in case someone happened to walk by and peer in. The back room was much more private.

 

“Mrs. Hudson,” John started to protest even as he followed after her down the row of bookshelves.

 

“Patience,” Martha chided him over her shoulder as they walked past the last two bookshelves and into the back area of the store

 

To her surprise all four Holmes’ were standing in a tight group in the middle of the room, waiting for them. Violet had Sherlock stood in front of her, her hands on the boys shoulders restraining him. Siger and Mycroft stood next to them, looking equally worried especially when they saw the looks on Martha and John’s faces.

 

“Something’s happened, what’s happened?” Sherlock asked rapidly, spiraling towards panicking. He attempted to go to them but Violet quickly pulled him back.

 

“Sherlock,” his mother chided quietly, wrapping her arms tightly around him. She turned her attention to John, greeting him with a faint smile. “You must be John Watson, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Martha and Hamish have spoken about you quite a lot.”

 

“Oh,” John laughed a little nervously. “I can’t imagine what they’ve said.” His gaze swept over all of the Holmes’, pausing on Mycroft and Siger who were silently studying him. “But it’s good to meet all of you. Now I know who Hamish keeps going on and on about. And thank you for helping Mrs. Hudson look after him when I’m not here.”

 

“It’s a pleasure, he’s a very nice boy,” Siger finally spoke up, smiling at John. Whatever he had been looking for he seemed to have found it. “And he does get on with Sherlock so well.”

 

John’s attention shifted to Sherlock who was standing silently in the cage of his mother’s arms, staring at John just as intensely as his brother and father had studied him.

 

“Thank you for being such a good friend to Hamish,” John told Sherlock quietly but sounding very grateful. “I worried about him not having any friends when we moved here, but thanks to you I don’t worry about him quite so much.”

 

Sherlock ducked hs head, managing a mostly mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

 

“We ran into Officer Lestrade on our way here,” Martha told them, happy the introductions had gone so well. “He wanted to tell me that several people have warned him about a suspicious stranger lurking around the village asking about me and the bookstore. He hadn’t seen the man himself, but was described as young with dark hair and wearing a fancy suit.”

 

“And you believe this is the author of the threatening letter you received, here to fulfill his promise.” Mycroft stated matter of factly, putting a voice to what they were all thinking and dreading.

 

“I believe so, which means we must be prepared for whatever is coming,” Martha confirmed, wishing there was something they could do to entirely prevent this from happening. To make it so they could just be left alone in their happy but uneventful existence.

 

“We’ll be ready,” Violet declared confidently, reaching out an arm to draw her husband and older son closer. “With all of us working together I just know we will be able to succeed and make sure this horrible man leave us alone for good.”

 

“They say two heads are better than one, which means six minds working together have no choice but to succeed,” John said, voicing his own agreement; he was stepping up so easily and quickly to help protect all of them from this unknown threat that Martha couldn’t help but feel proud.

 

Somehow they had created their own strange but thriving family. And even though there had been some setbacks and false starts, they were now coming together to protect each other against a threat that effected them all. They were so different and yet, she couldn’t imagine anyone else she would want to be part of this unique family.

 

“Well, let’s get started then. No time like the present.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
